


Maybe, they could take away the anger in your eyes

by Iamnotbleeding



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: (just implied I swear), Angst, Bi Connor Murphy, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Has PTSD, Connor Murphy Lives (Dear Evan Hansen), Drug Use, Friendship, Gay Jared Kleinman, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jared Kleinman Is Bad at Feelings, Jared Kleinman Tries, Kleinsen mention, Lots of Angst, M/M, Not Actually Smut, Oops, Past Abuse, Shotgunning, Slow Burn, Treebros mention, Underage Smoking, conman, hookup?, kleinphy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22545625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamnotbleeding/pseuds/Iamnotbleeding
Summary: Jared has had a crush on Connor for as long as he can remember.He hasn't done a single thing about it.Or, hadn't.Until the moment he found him passed out in the park, and found himself thrown from 0 to 100 in just a few seconds.
Relationships: Evan Hansen & Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen & Jared Kleinman, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy, Jared Kleinman & Connor Murphy, Jared Kleinman/Connor Murphy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This work is currently on hold to make way for another (hopefully much better) kleinphy fic! -

Jared has always found that the best cure to his stress is walking. 

It doesn't involve talking to anyone, opening up and being vulnerable, any kind of effort at all. He just has to let his feet lead him somewhere, and that's that. 

And, after the shitty day he’s had, he needs a damn good walk. 

He thought his first day of senior year would be fun, or at least tolerable. He can pretend all he wants that his summer was great, but in reality the “camp friends” he brags about were just the people that were too polite to tell him to fuck off, and he had spent most of his time doing things that were so forgettable he can barely list a single one. So, of course, he lies in an attempt to impress his family (and only) friend, but ends up looking like an unlikeable asshole. 

Of course, he doesn't learn his lesson and try to be less of an asshole, because halfway through the conversation he sees the person he had wanted to see the most. 

Connor. 

Now, Jared's no stranger to getting crushes on any vaguely pretty guy he sees, but something about Connor feels far more different. Maybe because of how fucking mysterious he is, how every part of him is like a code that nobody can crack, how little anybody knows about him. Nobody seems to care- but Jared certainly does. He wants to inch closer to him, get to know every little different personality he puts on for others, and maybe even figure out who he is when he isn’t trying to pretend. When he's just… Connor. In his purest form. When he's the boy he catches glimpses of when he thinks nobody can see him, when he laughs, however lightly, when he smiles, however small. 

Unfortunately, Connor’s reputation is far from perfect, and if anyone knew that Jared was associated with him in any way, he’d get dragged into that reputation too. 

So, he always tries his best to fit into the crowd, despite knowing it's just making Connor’s opinion of him worse and worse. He's never been too bad with the snide little insults, doing his best to blend them in with compliments, but it's always too subtle. 

Today, it's a little more tricky. Connor's always looked good, but clearly he’s been busy trying to reinvent himself for the hundredth time over summer, and Jared's honestly struggling not to just stop and stare at him in awe. The soft curls of his hair look a thousand times more obvious now that he’s let it grow out, septum pierced with a ring that just screams out “teen rebellion cliche”, nails black and freshly pained. He only pauses for a split second, but it feels like years to him, a mixture of gay panic and confusion, trying his best to silently deal with just how fucking attracted he is to Connor. 

Jared does the first thing that comes to his mind: to compliment how damn good he thinks he looks. 

“Hey, Connor!” His eyes shoot up from their glassy, zoned out stare at the floor, wide and alert, not giving him a single word in response. “Loving the new hair length!” Something inquisitive mixes into his gaze, head tilting slightly like a curious puppy, hand gripping tighter at his bag strap. This is Jared’s chance- he hasn’t run, hasn’t just ignored him, hasn’t lashed out. If he just says the right thing, then this could be the perfect time to finally get Connor to see him as someone that doesn’t entirely hate him. Then, from that… it's obvious. They would start to talk, build up a slow friendship until Connor finally feels the same back, admit it to each other, have an odd period where they're friends that make out all the time and tell each other they love them, until Connor would ask the faithful “What are we…?”, meaning Jared can swoop in and get the perfect teen movie cliche relationship he's always wanted. 

All he has to do now is say the right thing. 

Wait.

Fuck. 

There are other people around them, and he definitely can’t handle being outed to anyone at all, even if they don’t seem to be paying any attention other than fleeting glances. 

Save it with a joke. Easy. Connor gets it, right?

“School shooter chic.” He punctuates it with a grin, praying his sarcasm comes through to Connor and nobody else. 

He's hoping for something impossible. 

Connor’s expression drops, fist clenching, seeming to freeze up more than he already has. Something changes in his eyes, that's entirely impossible to pinpoint, but can only mean one thing- he's fucking pissed.

“I was kidding. It was a joke.” Jared defends quickly, desperate to laugh it off, to distract Connor before anything can get worse. He can’t.

“Yeah, I know.” He responds, entirely deadpan, sounding far more exhausted than Jared expects. “I’m laughing, can’t you tell? Am I not laughing hard enough for you?” He raises an eyebrow at him, venom in his voice, stepping towards him in a way he thinks is intimidating, but just turns out looking a little like weakness, like he's trying to protect himself. 

He is.

Unfortunately, Jared isn't great at making good decisions under pressure. A part of him wants to back down, excuse it as a compliment, but he can't push himself to do it, not when someone could hear. "you're such a freak." He mumbles, pushing past him down the hall, curling into himself as he just tries to get out as fast as possible. 

So, yeah. Shitty day. And it doesn't seem to get much better after the whole Connor incident. He sees him, once, dashing down the hall to the back exit, but can’t catch up in time to talk to him. Apologize. He’s said shit like that to Connor before, but never really got a reaction- and now he has, he feels like shit for it.

Which is why he's now wandering through the park in the near pitch black, far off the trail, taking comfort in the silence. There's nobody, nothing, only the crushing of the grass under his feet and the rustle of leaves when wind hits the trees. This is what he enjoys most. The knowledge that he's completely on his own, that there's nobody around to pretend for, that he can do whatever he wants with zero consequences. 

Nobody. Nothing. Alone. 

Somebody. 

A silhouette of someone under a tree, somehow both curled up and sprawled out, entirely still. Probably just some random junkie, or a homeless guy, he thinks. 

But something in him pushes him to be sure. He doesn't know what's causing it, but he has a gut feeling that something's wrong. That he'll regret it if he doesn't check.

He steps closer, as slow and as quiet as possible, just in case it is someone dangerous. 

He couldn't be more wrong. 

Curled in the grass, barely breathing, empty pill bottle beside him, lays Connor. 

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short opening for something I'm hoping is going to be a fun project! Kleinphy focused, recovery, slow burn. Everything you could ever want 
> 
> Edit: perspective finally changed to fit the rest :D


	2. Three weeks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends don't lie. 
> 
> Good thing they aren't friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete perspective change! I'm so sorry! I felt like trying out present 3rd instead of past 3rd, and I'm actually having a lot of fun.  
> Might edit chapter 1 to match. 
> 
> The whole dealer thing is COMPLETELY stolen from a fic I can't remember the name of, but I loved it SO much and wanted to borrow a little.  
> The end kinda goes off the rails with writing, but I'm happy with it. All comments are appreciated, as always!

“He’s stable, right now. You’re lucky that you found him when you did. Any later and… it would have been worse.”

Jared can only nod weakly in response to the nurse. His whole body feels numb, his everything feels numb, still stuck in shock. Half an hour ago, he was just on a calm walk. Now, he's in the ICU, his long time crush barely alive after what was clearly a suicide attempt, and the only thought that manages to swim through his head being about how there's a pretty good chance he was part of the cause. 

God, he wants to leave. He's desperate to leave. He's trying to handle everything internally, and struggling like hell. But, they haven’t been able to contact any of his family so far, and he'd probably feel even worse if anything happened and nobody was there for him. 

Speaking of which. 

The nurse reappears, Jared immediately jumping up at the sight, praying for good news. He doesn't know what he would do if it wasn’t.

“He’s starting to come to.” 

Oh, thank god. Good news. 

“Normally our policy is immediate family only, but for suicide patients we want them to feel as at ease as possible. I’m sure right now Connor would appreciate his best friend being there for him.”   
  
Huh. Best friend. He knows that the right thing to do is correct her, but he can't bring himself to do it. If Connor needs someone, then he's the best option. 

The moment he steps in the room, he feels his gut twist into knots. Part of him questions if it even is Connor. If he's even alive. Sure, the blood pressure monitor is steadily beeping away, but he's just as still and pale as when Jared had found him. 

But now, he's awake, eyes barely open and lazily watching Jared as he awkwardly sits beside the bed. 

“I'm sorry.” He mumbles, unable to look up at him, shaking his head. “Your, your parents are coming. Soon. I’m just here because…” His mind wants to finish it for him.  _ Because I love you. Because I’m sorry. Because I wish I had known.  _

His common sense actually answers it. 

“I found you. In the park. And… I don’t want to leave.”

“What?” Connor questions softly, feeling like a sharp punch to Jared's gut at just how weak he sounds. How weak he looks. Fuck, it hurts. He's only thankful that Connor isn't able to hurt him. 

“Just, I don’t want you to be alone. And… I want you to know I didn’t mean it. I never meant any of it.” Now is as good a time as any to let it all out, right? Not like Connor would remember most of it. “Everything I said, it wasn't true. I just, I did what everyone else did. And I know I was an idiot for still doing it anyway. But I'm here now and I realise how stupid I've been and, and I just, I want to make things right."

Jared doesn't need to look up. He can feel Connor's slightly open eyes glaring at him, 

"You're an asshole." 

"I know. I know I am. I'm just, all I'm asking for is a chance to make things right. Please. That's-" 

"Connor!" 

The moment is over. 

Cynthia bursts in, followed by Larry and Zoe, Jared quickly switching back to be as neutral as possible. 

* * *

“No, no, I’m just here because…”

“You don’t need to explain, the nurse already told us. We just… Connor never told us that he had such a good friend. And if it wasn’t for him having someone that knows him so well, he would… I mean, we wouldn’t… You’re the reason he’s still here. And we really, we can’t thank you enough.”   
“...Right. Yeah. I’m, I really should get home. My… parents are gonna be worried.”

* * *

Jared doesn't see Connor again for another three weeks. 

He pretended the whole friendship comments were just a misunderstanding, assuming Connor would clear things up and explain what had happened. Or, at least, hoping that he did. 

Turns out, he didn't. 

The first time he sees Connor again is completely unexpected. Connor had been on his mind constantly, partly in fear of if he would suddenly get worse in hospital. Despite how damn much he thinks about him, he doesn't notice him walking into their first period English class until he sits down right beside him, in the usually empty seat. 

Jared can't tell if he looks different, or exactly the same as before. The only thing he can perfectly pinpoint is that he isn't as bad as he had been in hospital. 

"Kleinman." He says, the softness of his voice startling. 

"...Murphy." He responds, after a beat of hesitation, unsure exactly what to say. He's pleasantly surprised by the short exhale of a laugh Connor lets out. 

"Because you… found me. My parents think you were my best friend. And… I was gonna correct them, but-" 

"They looked too happy about it." He nods, rubbing his face with his hands. "I know. That's why I didn't say anything either."

"Yeah. Well. I need a favour." 

Jared already knows he's going to say yes. Hell, there was barely anything he would be able to make himself say no to. "Depends what's in it for me." He says anyway, trying not to sound as eager as he felt. 

"Come over for a night, pretend we're friends. That's it. You get free food and weed, I get my parents off my back a little. I'll explain eventually, I just… they need this."

It's difficult not to say yes immediately, to keep up the act of being coy and not too interested. But, fuck, this is  _ Connor,  _ asking him to hang out. A month ago, this was his dream. 

It still kind of is. 

"Yeah. I think I can do that." 

* * *

Connors room is everything Jared expected it to be, and everything he didn't. 

Kind of a mess. And oddly clean. There's something about the pile of miscellaneous clothes in the corner, the half open drawers, the empty laundry basket that feels like he'd tried his damn best to make the place look presentable. Almost like he was trying to impress someone. And like there isn't much there to clean. 

The smell of weed he had anticipated was there in full force- it would be, if it wasn't mixed with something almost like perfume, and the scent of the coffee machine in the corner, which is currently buzzing away as Connor stands beside it. 

Everything in the room is a lot to take in. A couple guitars resting against a desk, bong sat beside his bed, that same coffee machine in the corner with a mini fridge and grinders next to it. For coffee, and weed. A stack of comics, stickers coating a shelf, vinyl records sitting on top. 

The walls aren't painted black as he assumed they would be, but are still somewhat the most 'Connor' part of the room. Three covered in a dark, starry paper, and one completely white. Well, one that  _ had  _ been completely white. Now, it was covered in album covers, hand written tickets to local bands, pencil sketches and miniature paintings done directly onto the paper. 

Jared finds it hard as anything not to stare at that wall for as long as he can. The only reason he doesn't is that he feels like he's almost violating Connor by doing so, like this is something so private and personal nobody else was meant to see it. 

"Sorry." Connor mumbles, acting just as quiet as he usually does, with an odd politeness to it now. "I know it's a mess in here. Figured you wouldn't care." 

"I don't." He responds awkwardly, quickly sitting down on the bed, surprised by how comfortable it is. "I mean, if I'm your 'best friend' now-" he punctuates with overdramatic air quotes- "I should know what it's usually like in here." 

Connor looks over at him with a gentle smile, pouring out his coffee. Jared's heart stops. He's never seen Connor smile before. There's something so sweet about it, so warm and beautiful, so different to anything he's seen from Connor before. 

"Yeah. Guess you should, best friend." 

"When do you think you're gonna tell them? That, yknow."

"That all you did was find me and we aren't friends, I know." 

Shit, why does that hurt so much? He's too caught up in how happy being with Connor makes him to remember that none of it is real. He doesn't respond. 

"I don't know, honestly. I just, don't want to tell them yet. They'd fucking lose it, honestly." He laughs weakly, sitting cross legged on his armchair, mug in his hands. "Thanks. For going along with it." 

"No problem. I mean, you did promise weed and food." 

"I know. Mom said she'll order pizza or some shit for us. And if you want weed I keep my joints by the window. So. Just sit there for a couple hours. We don't have to actually do anything."

They don't, for an hour or so. Until Jared finally pushes himself to speak again, while Connor sits at the window with a cigarette, and Jared tries to pretend it isn't attractive. 

"How are you doing? Physically." 

Connor looks over at him with slight surprise, clearly not expecting to hear him speak. 

"Oh. Well. Fine, really." He says simply, Jared deciding to take a slight risk, pushing a little more. He isn't sure what emboldens him to do it, but he wants to know more about Connor. Mainly to know if he's okay. 

"Mentally?"

That time, Connor hesitates far more. Thinking through his response. 

"...better." He decides, still not making eye contact. "Seeing a therapist. Getting on meds soon. Smoking when I need to." Sure, he's glossing over the details, but Jared knows there's more to it. He just doesn't want to push. 

"And you're getting better?" 

"Yeah. I think so. It's… slow." He shrugs, finally looking up to meet Jared's eyes. "but I'm getting better."

That sends a shot right through Jared's heart. He's getting better. He's getting  _ better _ . 

"I mean. Until I have another episode." 

Oh. Maybe less so. Maybe that whole 'better' thing is just a lie to stop people asking. But, that light, dry laugh is too distracting for Jared to focus on the words coming before it. Because, even with how quiet it is, even with how fake it is, Connor is laughing. 

Jared’s stunned silence is making him even more noticeably anxious than usual, so he reaches out his hand. “Want a drag?”

He shakes his head quickly, praying it doesn’t look too judging. “No. Sorry, just, I don’t smoke.” 

Connor shrugs, tapping the dead ash out the window. “Good. You shouldn’t.”

“Really? Of all people,  _ Connor Murphy  _ is the one telling me not to smoke?” He jokes. Connor doesn’t react as if he did. 

That’s the one thing Jared has never liked about Connor. When he passes the line between charmingly mysterious, and just plain cold. 

Today, he’s going for cold.

“I don’t do this because I like it.”

“Did you just, start and couldn’t stop?”

Connor smiles bitterly, and Jared feels that lump in his chest again. “Yeah. Guess you could say that. Makes the fucking noise go away.”

“Noise?”

He pauses. Thinks, again. It’s like he constantly goes through the same process with everything that might be even slightly revealing of himself, filtering it down to what he deems as acceptable. “It’s like white noise. All the time. Smoky, kinda.”

“Wouldn’t smoking just make it feel worse?”

“Nope. It’s like, it takes it all out of my head. Into my lungs, I guess.”

“Aren’t you worried about what it’ll do to you?”   
Connor rolls his eyes. “I think it’s pretty obvious I don’t care about the long term effects.”

That sends a much worse shot of pain through Jared’s heart. For a minute, just a minute, the context got forgotten. Now, it’s flooding back to him, the body in the park, Connor in a hospital bed, the fear of not knowing what the next minute would hold. 

“I thought you said free weed. Not cigarettes.” Jared points out, trying to distract from the conversation slightly.

“Stay to midnight. I normally don’t get high until my parents are asleep. They think I’m sober, so.”

* * *

Midnight. 

Jared still sits on Connor’s bed, this time with a joint between his fingers and the window shut, the room slowly filling with smoke with every drag they take. He’s never smoked like this. 

It feels like he’s floating, kind of. It definitely doesn’t feel like he’s in Connor’s bedroom, even though the smoke is barely floating through the air. 

Connor smokes far more than he does. He’s experienced, and it’s obvious. He hasn’t choked once, taking every long drag like it’s just a deep breath, like it’s something his body has to do to survive. 

  
“Why d’you have a bong if you don’t use it?” Jared drawls, voice slower and dropping slightly, startling Connor once again with how much calmer it is. Jared never sounds calm. Never neutral.

“It was a gift.” Connor shrugs, opening up easier now he was high. This was his comfort zone. 

“A gift?” He giggles. “From who? Your grandma?”

Even high, Connor doesn’t react like it’s a joke. 

“My dealer. Well, my old dealer. He skipped town on me, couple months back.”

“You got a gift from your weed dealer? Sounds sketchy.”

Connor’s mind cuts back to another time. 

The room is filled with the same haze his eyes have. 

He's younger, freshly sixteen, at what he would call the height of his addiction. Can’t get through a day sober. 

He has no money, and he can’t get through today sober. 

Even stoned, he knows it’s wrong. Not just morally, the state age of consent is 18. 

They both know this. Connor doesn’t know his age, but he knows the gap is somewhere around a decade. 

  
“ _ You’re getting so much better, Con.” _

His mouth tastes like salt. 

_ “You ready for another?” _

Right. There are more people there now, appearing out of the smoke. 

Jared is there. Not like the others, but he's there. Staring at his glassy eyes. 

“Give me another hit.”

He takes in the smoke as it hits his face. 

Takes a drag from the joint. 

Jared is mouthing something, but he’s in another world. No sound comes out. 

“Yeah. I'm ready.”

His eyes shut. 

He takes the bong when he leaves. 

Nobody seems to care. That’s his pay after all. 

He’s back in his bedroom, now. Jared’s still there. Still staring at his distant eyes as they start to focus again. 

“Payment.” He shrugs, looking down at the bed as he takes a deeper drag, holding it until he feels it working. 

“I don’t get it.” Jared mumbles, looking almost concerned. Connor doesn’t notice.

“Maybe you will, someday.”

Connor doesn’t let himself go back to that smoked out bedroom that night. He certainly feels like it, the more it starts to feel like he’s sat inside a cloud, the more he stops being able to remember what room he’s in, the more he gets himself out of it.

Any other night, he'd be there. Smoking just to get rid of the ache of his jaw and the salt in his mouth, no matter how much he was used to it. 

Not with Jared there. Not with the stupid things he’d say that would make him let out the smallest laugh, crack the shakiest smile, warm him up enough that a layer of mystery was peeling back. 

Just one layer. But, one was better than nothing, to Jared. 

Connor’s unbelievably pretty when he smokes, Jared thinks. He's blissed out. He’s toyed with his hair so much it’s bouncy and light, and he wants to touch it. 

He does, eventually. He doesn’t ask, just drags his fingers through it. 

And Connor was back in that room. 

He hurts. His body aches from holding itself up, and his scalp stings from the pulling. 

The hurt is nice. Reminds him he’s still alive, even if he's high. 

His natural response is a sighing moan. He gets more when he’s vocal.

His eyes open. Jared is in front of him. He’s in his bedroom. 

They’re staring at each other, unsure what to do. 

Jared’s fingers are still tangled into his hair. They’re on his waist. 

No, his are on Jared’s waist. 

No, both. 

The joint is pressed against his lips. 

The smoke is pushing past them, directly into Jared’s. 

The room is hot. It’s all too hot. He’s too hot. 

The covers are on him. 

It feels like the covers are on him. 

Jared’s on him. 

He’s too hot. 

He won’t take his shirt off, not for anything. 

Jared’s shirt is off. 

His shirt is off. 

Everything is off. 

Connor wakes up. 

There’s nothing on him but a blanket. 

He’s in that room again. 

No, he’s in his bedroom. 

The clouds are gone. The sun is casting light through the slats of the blinds, lighting up strips of his bare skin like year old scars. 

Two day old scars.

Jared isn’t there. 

He was. 

He isn’t now. 

It’s been three weeks. 

No, four weeks. 

A bad four weeks. So much for getting better.

Jared sits down beside Connor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is @deh-essays, feel free to send fic love/hate to my askbox :)


	3. Four weeks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connors trying his best not to reveal too much to Jared. Not after last time. 
> 
> But, it's same shit, different day.

There’s a bite to the air, out the back of school. There always is, no matter the weather, with the shadow cast over the grass by the gym wall. 

Nobody goes back there, but Connor does. Everyone’s aware that it smells like weed and smoke every time anyone walks past there after lunch, but they don't mention it. That’s just what they know Connor for. He spends his time alone, he gets stoned out of his mind, and he's a borderline psychopath. 

Once, someone spread a rumour that Connor had beat someone up for trying to go back there. It was all a lie, there was no proof or name attached, but everyone believed it. So, Connor has a reputation for fighting, despite it never happening at all.

Of course, he has fights. He likes the way they make him feel. He likes feeling blood against his skin. He likes aching with pain with every move. He likes any reminder he can get that he's alive, whether the fight is with a stranger, or with himself. He sees blood, he’s happy. It’s in his instinct, now. 

So he fights until he feels like he's living.

His reputation gets worse with each one. 

But, at least it means nobody bothers him when he needs to make his mind stop. 

He shuts his eyes. 

He's fourteen. 

He's on the floor. His lip is cut. He doesn't think he's crying, but he can feel the tears trailing down his cheeks. 

He can still feel the punches, the hits to his face and his stomach.

He can still hear the words, the taunting and the insults, the things he pretends he doesn't care about.

They’re gone, now. 

He thinks he preferred it when they were there. 

At least then he didn't have so much to think about.

He isn’t used to fighting yet. He’s never even been in one before. 

He’ll learn, in time. 

But right now, he's the only one coming out hurt. 

The only thing they’ve really beat out of him is his high, which he’s desperate to get back. 

White noise. 

Today is the first time voices join it. 

_That’s what you get for being a pervy little queer._

Bruise. 

_You think you can get away with anything, huh?_

Cut. 

_This is what freaks like you deserve._

Scrape. 

_You’re scum._

Whatever. 

He has all day to smoke it away.

He sits alone, and he smokes it away. 

He doesn’t sit alone. 

He opens his eyes.

Jared sits beside him. 

“I'm sorry for leaving.” He says. He’s been avoiding Connor for four weeks, four agonising weeks, trying to figure out some way to see him again. That persistent crush is still there, that desperate need to be with him, those feelings that he just can't remove. 

He was too out of it to remember anything that happened that night. 

He doesn’t know if Connor does either. 

A part of him doesn’t want to know.

“Why?” Even when he’s heard it before, Jared still gets startled by just how soft Connor’s voice is when he’s alone. When he isn’t trying to make himself sound like something he isn’t. He isn’t entirely sure that this isn’t just another act, another facade he puts on to make himself likeable.

He isn’t sure he wants to know.

“It’s a dick move.”

“Not really.” He shrugs, smoke from his lips hitting the air. “Leaving after a hookup is just how that shit happens.”  
“I didn’t even want a hookup!” Jared protests, trying not to acknowledge the twinge of pain he feels at Connor’s bitter, heartless laugh. 

“What, so you’re saying I-”

“No! No, fuck no.” He cuts in, unable to find the right words. “I wasn't… planning on any of that to happen.”  
“But you were high and didn’t think about it. Yeah, I know. I make all my best decisions when I’m high, if you couldn’t tell.”   
“Were you high when you…?”   
“No. Smoked my last that morning.” He shakes his head, and still hasn’t looked over at Jared. He opens up better when he pretends he isn’t talking to anyone, Jared thinks. “Funny part is, my dealer was the only person that realised.” He tries to joke. This time, Jared’s the one that doesn’t laugh. He can’t laugh, not while he’s thinking of Connor in that state. Not when he realises that absolutely nobody cares about him apart from his weed dealer. Not when it fully hits him that Connor truly has _nobody_ to turn to. 

He’s thankful Connor still won’t look at him, because it means he can’t see the tears in his eyes. 

They’re six. He has a kind heart, he sees Connor eating alone and sits with him at lunch. Connor’s quiet. Shy. Jared gets called over by his usual friends, and leaves, after ten minutes of silence. 

They’re ten. He’s assigned to be Connor’s partner for a project, and he’s still never seen him talk to anyone else. He’s still quiet. He wants to be Connor’s friend, but the project is over before he can even really talk to him. 

They’re thirteen. He’s staring at Connor across the room. He’s getting the first thought that maybe, just maybe, he has a crush on a boy. Connor notices, and leaves the room as soon as he can, without another word. 

They’re fifteen. Connor has gone from the shy weirdo to public enemy number one. Jared stares at him again, this time across the gap between their lockers. He’s sure he’s gay now, and he’s still into Connor. “Stop fucking staring at me.” He panics. “I’m staring because you look worse than usual.” He’s jumped on the bandwagon, and he’s too afraid to get off. 

They’re seventeen. He calls Connor a freak, in that same hallway. 

They’re seventeen. He finds Connor’s still body in the park. 

They’re seventeen. They’re high, and he’s finally getting what he wants. A chance. They fuck. He fucks it up. 

They’re seventeen. He’s sat beside Connor, tears in his eyes, mind running though all the chances he’s missed out on. All the times he could’ve changed Connor’s life completely, and he didn’t. 

They’re six. Connor thinks he did it on some stupid dare. 

They’re ten. Connor thinks he’s just doing what he has to.

They’re thirteen. Connor thinks the stare means it’s obvious that he’s high. 

They’re fifteen. Connor thinks he’s looking for something to twist into an insult. 

They’re seventeen. Connor thinks he might have got it all wrong. 

They’re seventeen. Connor thinks he’s an idiot for ever believing it.

They’re seventeen. Connor thinks the emptiness of his bed is a sign. 

They’re seventeen. Connor takes another drag of his joint.

Jared’s crying. He’s had so many chances, so many opportunities, and he’s made the wrong choice at every turn. And now, Connor believes that he’s completely alone in the world. 

Sure, before, Jared wanted to be his friend, wanted to try and get close to him. It’s an obligation, now. He can’t see Connor without seeing how damn much he needs someone.

“Same guy that gave you the bong?”  
“Same guy that was there when…”

_“You don’t have to give me a single dollar. Just help out my friend like you help me. Maybe if you’re good he’ll be a regular, huh?”_

He swallows thickly. 

Salt. 

“When I got it. Yeah. When my guy left, he took over.”

_“Sorry, doll. I'm still here the next couple weeks, you're gonna have to find someone else when I’m gone.”_

_“What do you mean, you only want one? You never just want one.”_

_“Don’t give me that shit. What are you doing?”_ _  
  
_

_“Shit, Connor…”_

“He’s gone, now. Get my shit another way.”

By that, he means that he pays with cash.

Jared doesn’t know that. 

“I’m still sorry for leaving.” Jared mumbles, shame in his tone, blinking harshly to keep the tears back. “It was just, a dick move.”  
“God, Jared, it’s fine. You’re acting like it’s never happened before. There’s no shame in sneaking out of a guys house because you made a really fucking stupid decision when you were stoned.” He laughs lightly, just enough to make a small smile appear on Jared’s lips. The sharp changes of his mood may freak Jared out, but hearing him laugh is entirely worth it. 

“Yknow, something tells me you know a lot more about this shit than me.”

“You calling me a whore?” He looks over at him, raising an eyebrow. He sees the tears in his eyes, but doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t want anyone to do that to him, so he doesn’t do it to Jared. 

Maybe they’re more similar than Connor thought. 

Jared hesitates. He wants to double back on himself, quickly apologize and pray Connor doesn’t get pissed off over it, but his inner instinct tells him that Connor’s joking. So, he jokes back. 

“Not a _whore._ Just, someone that’s kinda promiscuous, and has one night stands, and does slightly whore-ish activities in his free time.”   
  


Finally, Connor reacts like it’s a joke. He gives another gentle laugh, the same as the one that Jared heard when they were together last, and Jared feels a swell of pride in his chest. 

Maybe things are starting to get better. 

“So, you’re calling me a whore?” He repeats, stubbing out the joint as he took a last drag, fishing through his bag. 

“I’m saying you _act_ like a whore. Sometimes. Not always, but sometimes.”

Connor pulls out an obnoxiously flowery perfume, the same one his bedroom smelled of, gently spraying himself with it. Jared files it away in the part of his mind that keeps all the little pieces of information he knows about Connor. Everyone already knows he smokes, but he still covers it up. He covers it up. Why?

“Well, if you don’t mind being around someone that sometimes acts like a whore, my parents are bitching at me again about seeing you again. So, yknow.”

“Friday night?”

“Yeah, Friday night.” He nods, standing up and hooking his bag over his shoulder. “Try not to have sex with me this time, yeah?”

* * *

Jared finally tells someone the next day. 

He’s at Evan’s house, laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, scrubbing at his eyes. He's never been too obvious about it, but he likes seeing Evan. He pretends they’re nothing more than family friends, that he only sees him because he has to, but Evan is the only person he really counts as a friend. 

Maybe he’s more similar to Connor than he thought.

“You- you slept with Connor??” Evan questions, eyes wide, sat beside Jared on the bed. “Like, Connor Murphy Connor?”

“No, just some other random Connor.” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Connor Fucking Murphy Connor. It was only to help him get his parents off his back, and he said there’d be food and weed. So I went, because, yknow, I get to see Connor Fucking Murphy Connor. Fuck, Evan, you should’ve seen his room. It’s so _him,_ and he has all these paintings and pictures up, and he plays guitar because of _course_ he does, and then I smoked with him and he got even more pretty than he already is. And he kept touching his hair so it was really fluffy and soft and touchable. And it feels just as nice as it looks. And I’m pretty sure he washed it before I got there, because it didn’t look that nice at school.”

Jared pauses briefly, and Evan gives him a small, nervous laugh. “Gay tangent?”

“Mhm. Gay tangent.” He nods, sighing deeply.

“I wasn’t trying to have sex with him. We just started making out and… I don't remember the rest. So I left. And I thought I fucked everything up by leaving, and we didn’t talk for weeks, but now I’m supposed to see him again. On Friday. And I’m still hopelessly fucking gay for him!”

“Why is that, why is it a bad thing?”  
“Because…” He pauses, again. Shit, Evan’s far too emotionally logical when the problem isn’t his. “I don't know.”   
“I mean, you, you want to be friends with him, right?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, hesitating for a moment, unsure if he should tell Evan everything. He doesn’t really have anyone else to tell, right? “I want to help him, Ev.” He sits up slowly, scrubbing at his eyes and leaning against him. His old crush for Evan went absolutely nowhere apart from one tiny kiss and a huge panic attack because of it, but he still likes the physical contact. “He’s just… I don't know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone even try to be his friend. Apart from Alana, but, yknow. And I just, I think he really fucking needs it. I mean, nobody knew he was gonna try to kill himself but his fucking weed dealer. And, I don’t know, but I think he’s had some… shitty stuff happen. When I was with him he kept zoning out. Like he was somewhere else.”

“Disassociating.” Evan cuts in, Jared nodding softly against his shoulder. 

“Yeah. That. I wanna help him.”

“Then why are you so worried? About, about Friday?”

“I’ve fucked up every single time I’ve tried to get close to him. What if I do it again?”

“You won’t. Not, not this time. You’re trying, this time.”

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

“So, you gonna tell me what actually happened before, before you decided to start acting even, even gayer than usual?” 

* * *

1am. Friday night. Or, saturday morning. Or both. Time blends together so much in those hours that nobody truly knows which it is. 

Certainly not Jared and Connor. 

“How do you keep it together? When you smoke this shit all the time?”

They’re talking much easier, tonight. It feels almost like they really are old friends, but ones that know nothing about each other. Connor still hasn’t revealed much more beside tiny superficial details, but he’s coming out of his shell. 

Another layer gone, Jared thinks. 

“Because I have good tolerance. You’re cliche high when you have, like, two hits. I’d have to smoke at least two joints to get that high.” 

Connor’s laying beside him, tonight, instead of on the opposite end of the bed. Even with the smoke swirling around them, the glassiness of his eyes, he isn’t back in that room. 

“I dated a girl once- I mean, ‘dated’ a girl- and she hated that I smoked. And that was when I realised my tolerance was fucked, because I couldn't get high when I tried to smoke just a little behind her back.”

“What, did you break up with her because she wouldn't let you get stoned?”

“Kinda. She was just an asshole. I mean, I knew she was, that was why I liked her.” He says simply, as if it means nothing, As if it’s all normal to him. “But then she started being a huge dick to me. I left for the last time because she, like, fully hit me in the middle of an argument.”

“She hit you??” Even high, Jared’s concerned. It’s like every layer he manages to remove, he finds something new to hurt him. Something new that makes him ache for Connor’s safety. 

“Well, slapped me.” He shrugs, still trying to pass it off as if it doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t, to him. He’s used to getting treated like shit, one slap doesn’t feel like anything. Not anymore.

“Shit, Connor…”

Jared’s voice distorts. It isn’t his, it’s a voice Connor recognises far too well. One that’s accompanied by a persistent burn of weed and salt on his tongue.

_“Shit, Connor. I knew things weren’t great, but I didn’t know you felt… like that.”_

“Don’t.” He mumbles. “I fucking, I hate getting treated like that. I don’t want your fucking pity.” He shakes his head, taking a quick drag and shutting his eyes. 

“Con, that isn’t…”

_“Con, that isn’t your only option. I mean, you have to have at least a little hope.”_

“Fucking stop it!” He snaps, to two people at once- to three people at once. Even when he’s high, the noise in his head manages to break through. Manages to spit another voice at him, silencing the others entirely.

He flinches, harshly. 

Like he’s been slapped in the face.

_“I thought I told you to stop doing that shit! I told you to stop fucking seeing him!”_

He’s gone. Way too far gone. 

Normally, he's silent. He just zones out, into that other world in his head, snaps back eventually. 

Now he’s spoken once, he can’t stop. He’s reliving something he never wanted to see again. 

_“And I told you that I can't."_

“Connor?”

_“You can. Should’ve known you’re just a cheap fucking whore, huh? Should’ve known you'd go crawling back to whoever has drugs and a dick. You're an addict and a faggot and I don't know why I ever thought you could change."_

_"I'm sorry."_ He's whispering now. 

He can feel his cheek stinging, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes, trying to keep them down. _"I didn't do anything with him. I swear I didn't."_

"Con, you okay?" Jared asks. 

Connor doesn't hear him. 

_"You aren't fucking sorry, Connor! You aren't. You're a fucking liar. You're nothing."_

_"I'm sorry! I swear, I swear I didn't. I just, I told you I can't stop! I told you I can't. But I'm trying, I'm trying so fucking hard to stay sober. I'm trying."_

_"You aren't. You're just a fucking addict. You're lucky I haven't left you. You're lucky that I ever fucking wanted you, after how you act. Nobody else would ever want you. You're nothing without me, Connor. You're fucking nothing."_

He's still silent. 

Jared tries to break through again, but is met with nothing but a blank stare. 

_"I'd rather be nothing than be with you.”_ He whispers. Jared would be offended, if it wasn’t so painfully obvious that Connor isn’t talking to him. He doesn’t know exactly who he’s talking to, but it certainly isn’t him. He’s far away, yet again, and Jared starts to wonder exactly how often this happens.

Maybe it never does, it’s just a coincidence that it’s only ever come on when he’s there. 

Maybe it’s all the time. Maybe he goes through this every day. 

But, Jared doesn’t nearly feel close enough to ask. 

Something in Connor’s eyes changes. It’s subtle, but it’s so much. 

He’s back in his room. Jared’s there: She’s long gone. 

He feels overwhelmingly pathetic. Once, in a class debate, he yelled at someone to the point of being forced to leave because they said that women couldn't be abusers, and that male victims were the ones at fault. He adamantly went against it, but now, he can’t listen to his own words. He _let_ her do this to him. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles, tone almost the same as it was seconds before, curling into himself. He’s really fucked things up now, huh? He’s so careful and calculated about what he says to Jared, what he reveals about himself, but now he’s lost his grip. 

He’s never told anyone about her as more than a brief mention. Nobody knows the way she treated him, how afraid of her he was, how little things can trigger him back into it. 

“Don’t be.” Jared says awkwardly, unsure exactly what to say. Unsure what even happened.

Connor looks vulnerable. Afraid. He takes another drag, hoping that the high takes him even further away than he is. A part of him wishes he could just smoke until he didn’t remember anything. He’s sure as hell already tried. 

“That was, I just…”  
“You went somewhere else.”

He nods softly, eyes fixed downwards, too scared to look up at Jared.

“Where?” Jared asks, breaking the thick silence around them, taking a risk and trying to get through to Connor. Figure him out, just a little. 

“Told you. Big argument. Got slapped for being too hooked on weed to quit.” He takes another drag, laughing bitterly. “Didn’t work, if you can’t tell.”

Jared’s silent. Connor’s so experienced at this, so good at nonchalantly laughing off his trauma, playing it off as if it meant nothing to him even when he just had a barely provoked flashback. He wonders exactly how long it’s been happening. 

He doesn’t really know how to help him. All he knows is that Connor is broken. He’s pretending he isn’t, but he so fucking clearly is that Jared couldn’t ignore it if he tried. He doesn’t think about it. He leans in, wrapping his arms around Connor gently, pulling him into a soft hug.

Surprisingly enough, he doesn't pull away. He seems to collapse against Jareds chest, curling into it, falling into him as if he was made to fit in his arms. Jared can feel his heart beating in his throat, his chest tight, his eyes wide. He didn’t register what he was doing until he felt Connors weight and heat pressing so close to him, as close as he had always wanted to be, and now he’s trying to relax himself before Connor notices that something is wrong. Because, fuck, Connor needs this. And he hates himself for thinking of it in any other way than just comforting him. 

Connor really does need it. He doesn’t even remember the last time he was held by someone that had good intentions, and he’s almost forgotten just how much it helps him. He's desperate for human contact, and he knows jared is too, and before he can stop himself he lets out a quiet sob, tears welling up in those dark eyes, clinging onto Jareds shirt just to keep himself grounded. Jared just pulls him in closer, hand slowly moving to gently stroke his back, letting out a quiet mumble of “it’s okay, you can cry. It’s okay.”

And for the first moment in a long time, Connor believed it.

The room is filled with smoke. 

Not that room. Connor’s room. 

He’s in Jared’s arm. He’s safe. 

He’s safe.

* * *

“So you just, stayed like, like that? All night?”

  
“Yeah.” Jared nods, long distracted from the Spanish homework they were supposed to be doing. He’s slowly making a habit out of telling Evan about the latest Connor-induced gay panic, especially as it gets more and more confusing. “And now he won’t fucking talk to me again! I tried talking to him in the hall, and he ignored me. I spent a whole night just holding him and letting him cry on me, and now he’s acting like he still hates me. He’s just so fucking confusing! I don’t get it! I mean-” 

His phone buzzes, and he checks it, of course. He rarely ever talks to anyone, so it has to be important, right?

**_Instagram_ **

_(Thenamesjk): iamnotbleeding wants to send you a message_

_Hey_

Private account. No common followers. In fact, no followers at all. 37 posts. 

Bio simply reads “Ignore me”. Nothing else. No name. No hints about who it is. As far as Jared is concerned, it’s a spambot. 

His thumb moves to hit decline. 

Another message comes through 

_Sorry for ignoring you. I respect you too much to let you associate yourself with me. It’s probably best for you and your reputation and sanity that we end this. I'll make up some bullshit to tell my parents. Thanks for everything._

Oh. Well that explains it. 

“Is it okay if Connor comes over here?”

“I, I guess so, yeah. Why?”

“I’m worried.”

**_Come over_ **

_Why_

**_Last smoke before we end this_ **

He knows what Connor’s doing. Just not to what extent. He’s tying up loose ends to feel less guilty about what he’s planning, or he's just stuck in his head and believes he’s a burden on Jared. 

Either way, he’d hate himself for just letting him do it. 

_Typing…_

_Typing…_

_Typing…_

_Typing…_

_Typing…_

_Typing…_

_Typing…_

_Sure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really loving writing this so far :) next update hopefully coming soon, until then any comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated (and the only thing that keeps me writing) 
> 
> As usual, Tumblr is deh-essays, insta is lesbianconnormurphy, I love you all, check out my other work!


	4. One night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wants to end it.   
> Again.
> 
> But maybe, he'll get convinced out of it by a little bit of support. 
> 
> Maybe.

_ I spend far too much time wondering why I’m still alive.  _

_ Not always in a suicidal way, but I wouldn’t question why you’d think that. I’m not naive.  _

_ A part of me believes in some kind of higher power. Not in a religious way- I’ve never been a religious person- but I think I’ve had far too many close brushes for every single one to be luck.  _

_ I can’t give an exact number to the amount of times I’ve attempted suicide. Mainly because everyone believes it’s something different. Does an attempt have to be intentional? Does it have to be conscious? Does it have to be planned?  _

_ Either way. I’ve never done the same thing twice. And always come out breathing, somehow.  _

_ So, maybe there is something controlling my outcome. Choosing whether I live or die. Because I’ve never once tried to keep breathing, and I always have.  _

_ Maybe I haven’t finished up everything here. Maybe I’m someone else’s side character, and I’ll only die when I’ve impacted their story.  _

_ Maybe I’m still here for a reason.  _

* * *

Its twenty-seven agonizing minutes until they hear a knock at Evan’s door.

Jared, of course, practically runs to open it. Evan’s been talking him down from a panic attack the entire time, trying to distract him from thinking about how long it’s been since Connor said he would be there. He’s terrified, because what if Connor doesn’t come?

What if he wasn’t just ending their friendship?

What if?   
What if?   
  


What if?

Connor’s in somewhat of a state, when Jared opens the door. His eyes are red, in a way entirely different from when he’s stoned. 

He’s been crying, and Jared can tell. 

He seems more sheltered into himself as he walks in, like he always is in school, hand tight on his bag strap, hunched over, eyes stuck firmly on the floor. 

And in an instant, Jared sees all the progress he’s made with Connor completely crumble around him. He's reminded just how much it hurts to see Connor so afraid, so weak, so unsure of everything he's doing. 

They’re back to square one.

“You okay?” He asks as Connor walks in, only responding with a small nod as he kicks his shoes off. So, clearly not okay. 

He’s completely forgotten what he said in the messages. About ending their friendship, not wanting to associate with him, whatever bullshit he made up.

Jared leads him up to Evan’s bedroom, where he stands stiffly in the doorway, even as Jared sits on the bed. He feels that similar shooting pain through his heart as he realises that this is probably the first time for a very long time that he’s been invited to someone else’s house. In the back of his mind, there's a memory of someone's birthday party when they were young, when the whole class was invited just because everyone was too young to have strong opinions about others. And there's Connor, sitting completely alone in the corner, so out of place you'd think he wasn't supposed to be there. 

He walks out in the first ten minutes, and takes his gift with him. 

Nobody notices. 

“There’s space on the bed, Con. It’s fine.”

And, just as awkwardly, he walks over to sit on the edge of the bed, still gripping onto his bag like it’s a safety blanket. 

“You still wanna smoke?” 

“I’d rather talk. Because it’s pretty obvious that something’s up.”

I told you. I’m fine.” He shakes his head, but Jared refuses to buy it, moving to sit down beside him and wrapping an arm over his shoulder. 

“Connor, talk to me. I know we aren’t really, like, friends, or anything. But you can still talk to me, yknow?”

With a beat of hesitation, Connor relaxes into him, nodding softly. “I’m spiralling again.” He admits quietly, squeezing his eyes shut. Jared’s coming to learn that it means he’s pretending to speak to himself, so he keeps silent and just lets Connor talk. Right now, that’s the only way he’ll do it.

“I don’t even know how I can tell. Because I’m always spiralling. And everyone told me I’d get better, and I never do. And sometimes, I just, it feels like I’m wasting my time. Because I’m never gonna get better, I know I’m not, and I can’t just keep trying to get better when I never will.”

“Who’s helping you?” Jared asks softly, almost afraid to break through Connor’s vulnerability and ruin the moment. 

“Me. That’s it. I’m doing all of this by myself.”

Jared doesn’t think before he pulls Connor into a soft hug, shaking his head gently. “You aren’t, Connor. You have me, okay?”   
“You don't know me.” He insists, still sinking into Jared’s arms nonetheless. 

“I know you’re Connor. I know you like making art. And music. And I know you give yourself tattoos with needles. And you always try to dye your hair, but it’s too dark. And you draw all over your hands because you fidget. And you like parties, but you hate the noise and being surrounded by people. And you get stuck in your head sometimes.” He lists, pulling him slowly closer. “And, I know that I want to help you feel okay again. Even just for a little while. And I know that I…” The words sit at the tip of his tongue, almost about to spill over. He wants to keep going, wants to confess his love to him in the quiet intimacy of the moment, tell him everything he’s ever felt for him. 

He’s so close that he can see every little detail far better than he ever has, and he has a sharp realisation of just how easy it would be to pull him a little closer, tilt his head up gently, look into those bloodshot, smoked out eyes until they flutter shut and their lips meet, dissolving into the closest to bliss either of them will ever feel sober, fall back onto the bed and let his fingers find the skin under Connors shirt, listen to soft whines against his mouth, try to get endlessly closer.

Evan taps at the door nervously, and the moment is over. Connor’s still just in his arms, no closer than he was before. Another chance slipping through his fingers. 

“Hey, uh, sorry, I’m, I’m sorry to, to interrupt you guys-” Evan stammers out, far more anxious than he usually acts, likely because of Connor. 

Connor knows that. He’s seething, in a way, because surely he isn’t that bad? Surely there isn’t too much to be afraid of? But, then he remembers his reputation, and he’s at peace with it. It’s surprising Evan can even stand to be in a room with him. 

“Just, mom gave me money. For, for pizza. And I’m not, I’m not that hungry. So, you guys can get whatever you, whatever you want.”

Jared rolls his eyes, pulling away from Connor gently, who immediately goes back to his stiff sitting. “Ev, I’m not letting you get away with not eating. As your emotional support Jared, it’s my duty to keep you alive. I won’t even make you order pineapple pizza this time!”

“Pineapple pizza?” Connor cuts in, too disgusted to try to be quiet and polite around Evan. “You seriously eat pineapple fucking pizza?”

“He, he made me try it too.” Evan nods softly, giving an anxious smile. “It isn’t great.” 

“It’s a disgrace to humanity, Evan, and he should be put on trial for subjecting anyone to that kind of torture.” 

Connor’s getting along with Evan far easier than anyone expected, and Jared’s stuck in a stunned silence for a moment because, holy shit, somehow it’s making him even more adorable, because he has a tiny teasing smile and he’s acting fucking  _ sarcastic  _ and it’s far too much for Jared to handle. But, he has to stop staring in silence eventually, or he’ll look like the biggest creep in the world.

“You just have no taste.”

“It’s fruit on pizza!”

“Yeah, and it’s good!”

Without noticing, they’re edging closer yet again.

“You’re insane.”

“Oh, you think you can pull the insanity card on  _ me _ ?”

Connor’s face is so close Jared can feel his breath on his lips. 

“At least I’m not that delusional.”

“At least I’m not a fucking vegan.”

“At least I-”

“Sowhatdoyouguyswantmetoorder?” Evan cuts in, snapping the tension in half, Connor and Jared quickly separating, both noticing how hot the room seems all of a sudden. God, there’s far more tension between them than they had known. 

“I’ll order, no worries. 20 won’t get us much anyway.”

Evan does his best to convince Connor out of paying, or at least to let him buy his own food instead of using Connor’s money, but his anxiety-induced rambling is completely interrupted by Connor tossing Evan his phone and simply saying “get whatever you want.”   


By the time Jared manages to order, it’s already somewhere around $40. 

“Jesus, how much are you planning on spending here?”

“As much as you guys want to eat. I think you’re forgetting that my family are, like, kinda rich. They aren’t gonna care about me spending money on my friends.” He stops himself. He never refers to people as his friends. Hell, he’s only ever talked to Evan once, and that once is right now. Surely, these people aren’t his friends. They’re just tolerating him. After all, 

_ Kids like that don’t have too many friends.  _

He was too zoned out to look up when he first heard it, but he still remembers it clear as anything. 

_ How long until I see him again? _

He doesn’t quite remember who spoke. He never paid much attention to who it was. He just goes into that smoked out room, stops thinking, and does as he’s told when he’s told it. During sex- the little good sex he’s had- he likes having fun. Maybe it’s the trauma, maybe it’s just his nature, but he enjoys acting at least a little like a brat. And if he trusts them, he likes them to react accordingly. He doesn’t mind a few harsh words and a twinge of pain.

But this isn’t sex, to him. This is getting all the free weed he wants, any amount, any strain. Which is great, since lately he’s been switching to hybrids to get a high that actually helps him. 

_ Whenever you want. _

_ He’s here often? _

He wants to tune it out, but he can't find the energy to move from the bed to distract either of them. 

_ All the time. At least, recently.  _

He rolls onto his side, and regrets it immediately. He’s sweaty and sticky and gross. The room smells like weed and sex and salt. He only just registers the hand threading through his hair, catching on the thick tangles made from tugging that was just a little too much to feel good. 

_ Yeah. Makes sense. Kids like that don’t have many friends, huh? _

It isn’t just the sweat that’s making him feel disgusting. Even in his haze, something is telling him what he’s doing is wrong. Whoring himself out for drugs.  _ Liking  _ it. 

That’s the part he fucking hates. He hates enjoying it. He hates that it makes him feel good. He hates that he chooses not to pay so that he can feel the familiar delight of getting fucked and feeling  _ loved _ . 

Close to loved.

God, he’s gross. 

He waits a moment, until it’s safe to speak and the conversation has moved on. He lifts his head, blinking a few times for dramatic effect. 

_ Hey, doll.  _ He hears, eyes still not picking up the face saying it.  _ You wanna shower, now your little nap is over? _

He wants to go home. 

He nods anyway, and gets fucked again while he’s in there. 

So much for getting clean.

Whatever. 

Not like it makes much difference to him. 

He’ll hurt tomorrow anyway. 

“Is he- is he okay?” 

That one comes through better than any of the others. It’s different, somehow. 

“Yeah. Told you, he spaces. I just let him go through it.”

And that one. They’re familiar. 

“Oh…”

“I'm here.” He says suddenly, surprising even himself. “Sorry. Just…”

“Spacing out.” Evan nods, looking away. “Sorry for- for staring.”

“Sorry for doing it.” He shakes his head, scrubbing at his eyes with his palms, as if to get the image out of his head of that smoky room and distorted voices. 

That’s when he feels a gentle pair of arms wrap around him, and a head rest against his shoulder, somehow tethering him down to reality. He expects it to be Jared- sure, they aren’t really that close, but he’s the most comfortable with him. A comfort hug isn't too odd, for them. 

When he opens his eyes, it’s Evan. 

He’s so genuinely shocked he almost jumps away, but it’s like his body won’t let him. He just relaxes into it, into the utter warmth and care of it, the kind that was enough to make him forget things. Just for now. 

Internally, Evan's punching himself enough that he can practically feel it. 

He isn't an impulsive person, not usually, and he has absolutely no idea why he wrapped himself around Connor in the way he did. But, he did, and now he can't pull himself away. It's like he can feel the pain in Connors body, the fear and hurt in him, the familiar anxiety of someone that so desperately needs something to hold him down.

God, he can see why Jared wants to help him. 

“Sorry.” He whispers, still not pulling away. He can’t force himself to do it. 

Not when Connor’s relaxing into his arms as if he actually  _ likes _ it. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

For once, Evan doesn’t. He barely knows Connor, aside from the short time they’ve spent together, and the rumors he’s heard before, but he trusts him. He isn’t sure why. There’s just something about him that he trusts without needing to know it. 

Maybe they aren’t too different. 

“Hate to break up the cuddle-fest, but we still need to order food.” Evan pulls away as Jared speaks, and Connor feels oddly cold without him there. 

He isn’t used to this. Making friends. Connecting with people. He’s never successfully done it.

“Yeah, yeah, my card is on there. Just pay for it.” 

Well. Never successfully done it until now. 

Maybe.

* * *

Midnight comes, and Connor’s not asleep. 

They’re all still in Evan’s bedroom, accompanied by a stack of empty pizza boxes. Evan and Jared are sharing the bed, Connor’s on the floor. He’s used to sleeping less than comfortably by this point. 

The others have been silent for a while, and he assumes they’re asleep. 

Last hang out. 

He still didn’t get that last smoke, though. 

He decides he’s going to leave his bag there. A souvenier of his life. All he takes is a cigarette, and his favourite lighter. 

He’s been smoking with it since he started. Filling it with fluid instead of buying a new one. He knows it’s weird, having an emotional attachment to a lighter, but he can’t will himself to get rid of it. 

He doesn’t believe in reincarnation, but if he did, he’d want that lighter to come with him. 

After all, maybe there are cigarettes in hell. 

He makes it as far as the porch to light it before he hears the front door open. 

Shit.

“Connor?”

“The fuck do you want.” He mumbles. It isn’t a question, but Evan answers anyway, voice quieting with anxiety. 

“Oh. Uh. Sorry. You, just, you left your, your bag. I wanted to make sure you, you hadn’t, forgotten it. Or anything. Because, if you walked home and, and didn’t have it, you’d be-”

“I get it. You don’t have to talk so fucking much.” He knows he's being a dick, but he doesn’t really care, right now. Evan tries his best not to inhale any of the smoke drifting into his face. He makes a strangled choking sound, making Connor finally turn his head to look over at him. 

All the life that was behind his eyes is gone. His face is blank, cigarette hanging from his lips and dripping ash onto the patio. Evan hates the corner of his brain that finds it just a little attractive. 

Well. Not attractive. He isn’t attracted to Connor, that would be ridiculous. He isn’t attracted to guys. 

Is he?

Oh, fuck. 

Push it down. Just push it down. He’s done that before, right? He can do it again, This is nothing. It’s nothing. 

“Stop staring at me.”

That’s the moment Evan realises he's staring. What’s gotten into him?

“Yeah, sorry, sorry. I didn’t, I wasn’t, I was just-”

“Didn’t I just tell you to stop talking so much?”

Connor smirks. 

Oh, shit, Connor  _ smirks.  _ At  _ him.  _

Jesus fucking christ, he’s going to die. 

Connor pulls the cigarette from his mouth to exhale, and Evan grabs it from his hand without even thinking, taking such a deep drag that the ash is flaking off in glowing chunks. 

Connor would be pissed, if he wasn’t practically in shock. 

“Since when did  _ you  _ smoke?”

“Please don’t tell anyone.” He mumbles breathlessly, words mixed with smoke, trying to offer it back to Connor but being refused as he simply pulls out another.

“Yeah, because everyone at school is definitely gonna care about that.” His eyeroll is somehow purely affectionate.

“No, I mean- Don’t tell  _ anyone _ .”

“Jared doesn’t know?”

Evan shakes his head as he takes another drag, happy to finally clear his head. He’s needed this far more than he realised. 

“Nobody does. I don't, like, do it all the time. I’m not a chain smoker or anything. It’s just…”   
“A stress thing. Yeah, I assumed. You don’t exactly seem like a smoker.”

“No. I know.” He mumbles, eyes fixed down at the floor. He isn’t stuttering as much, Connor notices. “I only tried it because Jared offered me one. And I choked before I even inhaled right, because I’m an idiot. But, when he left I had a panic attack over… something. I can’t remember it. And the one I’d started was still on my desk. So I tried it again, just, to try and distract myself. And it helped.”

“Why were you having a panic attack? Today, I mean.”

“Oh. Well. Uh.” The stutter is back, and so is the heavier breathing. Fuck, he’s gonna have to tell Connor he’s into him. He- 

Connor waves a hand at him dismissively, still speaking from the side of his mouth. Evan can tell he’s far more used to this than he is.

“Don’t worry about it. I get it if it’s my fault.”

“No-! No, it isn’t, it-”

“Told you. Stop talking so much. New people can fuck with anxiety, I know.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that you...”

“Had anxiety? Please, I’m more obvious than you are. I understand what it feels like, don’t worry. And…” He hesitates. 

Right now, he’s supposed to be dying. 

He could stop now. 

End the conversation, 

go about his plans, 

not see the sunrise. 

Or, he could keep talking. 

Its talk, 

Or die. 

Turns out, there’s a third option. 

He’s been quiet a little too long, apparently, and smoking seems to give Evan temporary confidence while his head is clouded. 

“Why did you blank out? Earlier. If,” The pause is to exhale, not to stutter. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

“Anxiety’s the tip of the fucked up iceberg I am. You really wanna see the rest of it?”

“It’s the tip of mine, too.” He sighs, leaning against the wall. “I do.”

“I’ve… been through some shit.” He decides, being just vague enough that Evan manages to understand. “I haven’t, like, talked to a professional or anything. Because I’m sick of psych assessments. But, it’s like PTSD. Kinda. Flashbacks, dreams, that shit.”   
“How often does it happen?” 

“I just told you I’m sick of psych assessments, don’t make me go through another.” Evan notices that Connor rolls his eyes a hell of a lot. He’s starting to learn that it’s affectionate. “I can’t give you, like, a solid number. It's just, whenever it gets set off. Like, being around new people can set it off easier, I think." 

"Oh. Well, uh, what triggered it? So, I can avoid it."

"Nothing you did. It was in my head, yknow? I spiralled and, that was it. I was in that damn room again." 

Evan doesn’t push about what the room is. Or where he spiralled to. He knows not to push. He hates when people push too far about his anxiety, and he feels like Connor gets it. 

"Wait, how d'you even get cigarettes? I know you wouldn't have a fake ID, and you said nobody knows." Connor's trying to avoid the subject, and he's thankful when Evan doesn't question it. 

"Well. The guy that works at the store down the street knows. He doesn't normally ask me for ID, so."

"You buy often?" He raises an eyebrow. 

"No, god no. I don't, do this often. A pack lasts me a couple months." 

"Jesus." Connor laughs gently, blowing off the remaining ash from his and tossing the stub into the bush. 

"Don't do that." Evan grumbles, sounding mad for the first time since Connors met him. 

"Do what?" 

"You'll hurt the plants."

Connor can't help his affectionate laugh, cheeks flushing at how cute it is. 

"I think one cigarette butt won't kill it." 

"You might hurt it, though. I don't want any dead bushes." 

"God, you're adorable." 

Evan freezes. He tries to play off his wide, shocked eyes by taking another drag, barely getting any smoke but thankful for the little he did. 

Okay, okay, change topic. Easy. He won't notice. 

"You were saying something. Before. I think I cut you off.” There’s a hint of anxiety in his voice as he stubs out the last of his cigarette, making sure to throw it into the trash can. 

Okay. Shit.

Now Connor actually has to decide. 

Talk, or die. 

“Oh. Yeah, it was just…”

He has to decide. 

He has to. 

Now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update!! I was on vacation for a while, and college work is starting back up, so expect monthly updates from now on.
> 
> As usual, all comments are massively appreciated :)


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